Page 43 of Sold Rejected Mate
Chapter 21 - Valerie
There’s something to be said about the power of money. Within two days of the fire, a crew arrives at Lachlan’s place, carrying in ladders and tools and sheets of material. Cleaners and repair people and restoration experts all arrive, their trucks lining up and down the driveway.
In high school, I knew that Lachlan’s family was rich. That was evident in the car he brought around to pick me up, the fact that he reclined lazily in the front seat, and that he was never bothered by the thought of dings or scratches.
Andthishouse, it must be worth more than a million dollars. Situated in the mountains above town, full of high-tech appliances, the pool glimmering in the backyard.
So I already knew about his wealth. But seeing it in real time, watching him simply call up companies and tell them to come out and fix the place up—it’s startling. Especially considering the apartments I’ve been in, barely scraping by, for the past ten years. Eating instant ramen and stealing sauce packets from public markets. While Lachlan shrugs when something is past the due date, dropping it in the trash without a second thought.
Since my meeting with Xeran, Lachlan has insisted on celebrating several different times, taking me to certain places in town. Sometimes, he’s looking over his shoulder or asking to check the guest list. At first, I thought it meant he was embarrassed to be seen with me, but I’ve started writing it off as old-fashioned alpha paranoia.
“Come on,” Lachlan says, standing in the doorway to the bathroom, looking at me with hungry eyes. He stands there withnothing but a towel around his waist, water dripping down his chest. “Let’s get out of here while they’re working on stuff.”
“Okay,” I say, sitting up in his bed, dropping the sheet from where it covers my chest, watching his eyes lower, dark and hungry, to my bare breasts. My heat is only just now ebbing, after hours of being in bed with this man, and I almost find myself wishing it would come back. Just so I’d have an excuse to keep him here, between the sheets with me. “But do you think there’s something else we should do first?”
He’s climbing into bed in a flash, making me laugh and squeal with the way he growls, burying me in kisses, his arms bracketing either side of my head. “Whatever you say, Valerie, we will do.”
And so we do.
Later, after a shower—which takes longer than it needs to and leaves me breathless, just wanting to get back in bed—I dry my hair, get dressed, and climb into the passenger side of his sports car.
“You’re being very mysterious about this,” I mutter when he refuses to answer me for the third time about where we’re going. Part of me wants to complain because I don’t like not knowing things, but another part of me is content to sit in this car, to enjoy having someone else drive for me.
To enjoy sitting in a car this nice, when for most of the time after I left Silverville, I didn’t have a car at all.
“I don’t want to call it a surprise because I don’t want to get your hopes up,” he says, turning onto a familiar road. As we go, I twist a little to watch the trees go by us, and when I roll down the window just a little, there’s the distant, twinkling sound of running water. “And I don’t want you to think it’s cheesy.”
When he turns again, and the engine roars with the effort of climbing, I know where he’s taking me. I sit up, heart starting to thrum with the memory of being up here on my own that night, working my way through the woods and back into town.
“You came back for me?” I ask as we turn and pull into the clearing at the top of the ridge—Silverville.
“I did.” He clears his throat and turns to me, wincing a little as he smiles. “I thought—I thought we could have a picnic. Replace the bad memory with a good one.”
This time, instead of sitting in the car like we used to, we get out and start walking. The path we’re on opens up into a small clearing a little further down on the outcropping, surrounded by towering pines and aspens.
It’s similar to the ridge above where we used to park, but more private, with a breathtaking view of the valley. Though we can’t see it, I can hear Silverville Creek bubbling by somewhere through the trees. It sounds like home.
Like my childhood.
Just like every night I came up here with Lachlan before, when we’d listen to the sound of that water through his car’s cracked windows.
The air is crisp, somehow the only place in town that doesn’t smell like ash and smoke. Instead, it carries the scent of pine needles and wildflowers. Fresh—a place where you can breathe without thinking about the daemon fires.
“Over here,” Lachlan says, spreading out a quilt and gesturing for me to sit.
I do, stretching out my legs and sighing into the feeling of being up here. From a soft cooler, he pulls out containers of strawberries and tiny sandwiches.
“Did you make this stuff?”
“No,” he laughs, lifting his eyes to mine. “Sorry. I got it from the deli.”
“Sorry?” I reach out and take one of the little sandwiches, turning it over in my hand and marveling at the smooth white line, the thinly sliced cucumbers stacked neatly. It’s adorable. I take a bite—delicious.
“So,” Lachlan says, clearing his throat and meeting my eyes when we’re both seated on the blanket. “How is…the magic stuff?”
“Magic stuff?” I laugh, watching pink streak over his cheeks. My body urges me to lean forward, press into him—my skin is ravenous for the feel of him—but I resist that urge.
“Or whatever.” He shakes his head, dropping his sunglasses over his eyes and looking up into the sky.
